


The mystery of the future

by the_girl_with_all_the_fandoms



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 11:55:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/849273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_girl_with_all_the_fandoms/pseuds/the_girl_with_all_the_fandoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Johnlock. Soulmates that find each other, starts on the actual day they met (paraphrased speech to avoid plagarism).  Inspired from - http://psyducked.tumblr.com/post/53240946980/i-wish-there-were-necklaces-given-to-us-at-birth</p>
            </blockquote>





	The mystery of the future

Sherlock  
  
Sherlock was working in his lab, absent-mindedly rubbing his fingers over the necklace that hung around his neck. The chain was unbreakable, fitted on at birth and would stay on until death where upon the chain would break and crumble, leaving only the pendant behind. It was a constant warm temperature, it hard been for most of his life, varying slightly at times obviously. Several years ago the temperature had dropped until it was just cold metal that hung against his chest, but since a few months ago it had warmed up again. As he learnt from Mycroft the chain would change temperature dependent upon how close and how far away from your soul mate you were. Apparently when you were right beside them it would burn for a split second leaving an imprint in your skin of the two halves combined together then fade back down to your body temperature. The imprint might last for a few seconds, for an hour or for years. It was different for everybody and nobody knew why.  
Each necklace had a different shape and Sherlock’s was a tear-drop shape. The tear drop that would one day fit with his soul mates. He wondered what they would look like, whether he would ever even meet them; often people didn’t, they settled for another person. He wasn’t like that, he would never settle, he would rather die alone. Previous experiences with relationships taught him that it was either all or nothing, no longer was he willing to mess around and have quick flings with people. After his experimentations in his early twenties led him to the darkest time of his life, he was perfectly happy to remain alone and aloof, tied only to his work.  
Speaking of work he needed to continue analysing the new blood samples Molly had sent through. Turning his mind away from his future partner he looked down the microscope and focused it in on the dark patches of red. His concentration snapped into action and his mind went blank of anything other than his work, dedicated to finding the new killer that had left three young girls dead on a bench as if pausing for a break before going home after a night out. All the girls were aged 19, dark haired, dark eyed, had previously lived outside of London and were studying politics, philosophy and economics at university. Other than that there were no other similarities and Sherlock couldn’t decipher what connected the three to have been chosen the killers targets, or why he had chosen to place them together so publically.

Suddenly the door swung open and Sherlock felt a male presence in the room.  
“Hello Mike” He said without looking up.  
“Just got off for lunch, want to go somewhere?” Mike Stamford was a round man with a sweet smile but far too interfering and nosy.  
“Firstly Mike, you know I don’t eat just because society dictates I should in the middle of the day. Secondly I’m in the middle of the case, I need to get it done.” Sherlock hoped this would persuade Mike to leave.  
Mike sat on the sofa opposite Sherlock’s lab bench. Obviously not then, Sherlock thought with an internal sigh, why do people insist on bothering him.  
“Listen mate, I get that you want me to leave, but I don’t want to be alone. Not today. Just have a chat with me for a few minutes, let me get some stuff off my chest and then I’ll go.”  
Looking up from his work Sherlock saw Mikes stained and crumpled shirt, the dark circles around his eyes and his messy hair.  
“You haven’t been home, why?”  
“Missuses locked me out after our argument last night, I don’t know if it’s alright now, I don’t know if I can go back tonight. I don’t know what to do Sherlock, it’s never been this bad. She…she won’t even answer my calls.” Sherlock saw Mikes hand drift towards his own necklace, a zigzag line that did not fit with the necklace his wife had hanging around her neck.  
“Sherlock, what if she found him? What if she found her soul mate? What will I do then?” Mikes head fell into his hands and suddenly Sherlock felt a sense of sympathy with the man, it wasn’t a normal feeling for Sherlock and made him feel exceptionally uncomfortable.  
“Listen Mike, I know it’s not much, but you can always stay with me for a while if you need to?” Sherlock felt a sense of dread, silently begging he hoped Mike would say no.  
“Sherlock, no offence, but I don’t think I could ever deal with you as a flatmate, sorry.” And then Sherlock’s heart dropped, he realised the dread hadn’t come from a fear of Mike saying yes, it had come from fear of rejection.  
“Yeah, I know, just a suggestion. I really should get on with this work, sorry Mike. If there’s anything else I can do, let me know.”  
He watched as Mike stood up to leave. “Anyway, who would want me as a flatmate?” He scoffed dejectedly, hoping in his heart that someday, somebody would.  
“Sherlock, don’t be like that. You’ll find them one day. If anyone can find them then you can.” Mike smiled sadly and made his way out of the door.  
“Yeah right…” Sherlock whispered as he turned his mind back to the curious murder case.

John

After having a terrible night’s sleep and another difficult meeting with his therapist John decided his best option was to look again for a nicer but still cheap place to live. His pension wore thin at the end of every month, as did his patience. He had hoped that he would adjust to civilian life after a while, but it still hadn’t occurred. Walking back from his therapist’s office, desperate to get back to the little bedsit that he currently named home, he decided to take the path through the park. Usually he didn’t go this way as it was longer and caused his leg to ache as the torn skin was tugged for longer than usual, but something was pulling him in the direction of the park. Blanking out the pain and focusing only on how he was going to earn enough money to live in London he limped past laughing children, young couples and business people rushing about with their suits and their briefcases. Moving to somewhere cheaper was possible, but he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving. Getting money of his sister was also possible, but her recent break from Clara and increased alcoholism made him wary to enter into any sort of deal with her. Clara might lend him money for a while, after all they had been closer than John and Harry most of the time, but then he would feel as though he was betraying Harry and choosing a side. He heard someone calling his name but ignored it, John was after all the most common name and nobody would want to talk to him. Could he get a job, possibly as a doctor somewhere? Maybe he could set up his own drop in clinic. He heard his name again, surname and all, closer this time and turned to see who it was.  
“Stamford, Mike Stamford. We were at Bart’s together.” A tubby man in a long coat and looking rather dishevelled stuck his hand out. He bore a slight resemblance to the Mike Stamford John had known at Bart’s, but he wouldn’t have been easily identifiable if he hadn’t already explained who he was.  
“Yes, sorry yes. Hi, hello.” He didn’t want to engage an old friend in what would be an awkward conversation about the past few years but also out of common English courtesy would not be rude to someone who obviously wanted some company.  
“I thought you were overseas somewhere getting shot at, what happened?” John could still see remnants of sandwich around Mikes mouth and struggled to remain polite.  
“I got shot” He said curtly, gesturing to the cane he held. After a brief apology and a peace offering of coffee, John accepted Mike’s invitation to sit and talk about what they had been up to.  
He allowed his mind to wander, paying only the briefest attention to what Mike was saying. If he set up his own drop in clinic then he would need a far larger area anyway, and probably new training, he thought angrily. He partially heard some question as to where he lived and blurting some scathing remark about his tiny bedsit he felt Mike tense up beside him on the bench. After a brief awkward moment later Mike suggested a flatmate, at this John scoffed loudly.  
“Who’d want me as a flatmate?” Mike gave him an odd look. “What?”  
“You’re the second person to say that to me today.  
“Who’s the first?”  
  
A short cab ride later John found himself outside a large stone building, but with little time to note the rest of his surroundings he hurried after Mike. He noticed an vague increased temperature of the chain around his neck. Winding through the clean corridors, John didn’t have a clue where they were going, he didn’t really care. It wasn’t as if anything bad could happen to him; they were obviously in a very public building. The only thing John could focus on was the necklace that had hung around his neck getting hotter with each step. Suddenly Mike stopped outside a wooden door and knocked twice. A pretty girl pulled it part way open. Maybe this was her, maybe this was his soul mate, the heat against his neck was certainly suggesting so.  
“Mr Stamford, you’ve already been here once. Sherlock needs to work.”  
“I know, I know. Sorry, this is important.” With blatant disregard Mike pushed past her and dragged John behind him.  
Uttering a brief word of apology but unable to resist Mike’s strong arm and unable to focus on anything but the searing heat against his chest and stumbled on. Bursting through the doors into a lab John saw a slender man hunched over his work at the opposite side of the room. He shut his eyes to block out the pain and didn’t open them until he heard a melodious voice ring through the room, laced with annoyance.  
“Mike, who is with you?” John felt his heart skip a beat but kept his eyes dead on the ground.  
“Sherlock, meet your new flatmate. That’s all. Goodbye” John heard the door swing shut behind him and then slow, steady steps equally paced making their way towards him.  
“Tell me you feel it too, tell me you feel that burn. Tell me that it’s you!” He heard that lovely voice demand again but the heat was so strong it was almost unbearably to even open his mouth and utter the words.  
Looking directly up into the green-blue eyes and whispering “Yes.” He felt a scorch against his chest and saw the flicker of pain in the eyes that bore down into him. Then suddenly the heat faded to his normal body temperature and John breathed a sigh of relief. Unable to comprehend what had just happened he felt as though he may cry and questioned why.  
“It’s you, it’s you. I’ve finally found you!” He heard the other man speak, his voice cracking slightly.

Sherlock

The heat had faded but in its place there was a swelling of his heart that threatened to overflow through his eyes. Looking deep into the soul of the beautiful, blond man that stared back at his he uttered the only words he could think of.  
“It’s you, it’s you. I’ve finally found you.” Then he heard his voice crack and the wet tears dripped slowly down his face. Salt fell onto his lips and he silently begged the other man to say something. Out loud he whispered repeatedly “It’s you, it’s you” over and over again, desperately wanting some recognition. Then he saw the glassy blue eyes focus on his own and saw the tears falling from them.  
“My soul mate.” The blond man breathed, almost to himself and Sherlock lost all control. He swept the man into a kiss and tasted the mingling of tears, saliva and hormones as the two souls joined together for the first time. Holding him tightly, Sherlock felt as though he may burst and refused to let go in case this was all a dream. But the man broke away and held Sherlock’s face. Suddenly Sherlock felt over-come with embarrassment and shame, he felt his face blush a deep red and coughed. Never before had he lost control in such a way. Turning away from the man he made his way to the sofa and sat down.  
“I’m John, John Watson. I’ve been waiting for you my whole life. Admittedly I thought you were going to be a woman and am more than a little surprised, but this seems so right that I don’t want to change a single thing about it.”  
“John Watson. John. Watson. My John Watson.” Sherlock tried the name on his lips and had never heard anything as beautiful. “I’m Holmes. Sherlock Holmes.” Flashing one of his smiles at John he patted the place next to him. John came and sat, holding Sherlock’s hand and smiled with such happiness that Sherlock decided right then that he would never stop trying to make that smile appear for the rest of his life.  
  
For the next few hours they talked about their lives, and filling any silences with gentle touches and brushes of fingertips or lips or knees. Most of what John told him Sherlock had already deduced. Sherlock’s necklace had gone cold because John was attending to soldiers in Afghanistan as a Doctor. John had an alcoholic brother (later turned out to be a sister) who had recently broken from a partner that he was close to. And he had never felt as happy as he did now. Sherlock told John all about his cases, how he played the piano to think and how he had never felt at one with this world until he saw John staring back into his eyes.  
When John finally stood to speak Sherlock looked at him, filled with expectance.  
“I have to go, but can I see you tomorrow?”  
“Of course, we’ll go check out the flat I have in mind. 221B Baker Street.”  
Pulling him in for another kiss, a passionate, deep kiss, Sherlock again felt his heart begin to swell with happiness. Then he watched as John nodded in that naturally submissive way one does if you’ve been trained in the army and made his way out of Sherlock’s office.

Turning his attention back to his work, Sherlock knew he was going to get no sleep again. Not that it mattered, his body was only a vessel needed only the most basic care to get by just fine. His mind was what mattered, without his mind Sherlock was nothing. Focusing back on the three girls he ran over what he already knew. From his work this afternoon he knew that the girls all fell into the tiny 3% of the population that had blood type AB+. Continuing to work away through the night, messaging Molly at intervals to bring him more coffee and knowing she would never reject him, Sherlock refused to give up until he had cracked it. When Molly came by at 4 in the morning to deliver his 13th coffee he finally snapped.  
“MOLLY! It’s not working, why isn’t it working?!” He shouted right into her face, cause her to drop the polystyrene cup and spill black coffee over the floor.  
“I’m s-s-sorry Sherlock.” He saw tears forming at her eyes before she blinked the back and straightened herself. “Maybe you need a break?”  
“Break, I don’t have breaks Molly. I don’t need them.” He knew he was being unreasonably harsh, but didn’t care. He wanted results and he wanted them now.  
“Look, Sherlock. You’ve just found your soul mate. Obviously you’re shaken up by this. Maybe you just aren’t concentrating as well as usual?”  
Sherlock felt his anger fill inside him. Not concentrating? NOT CONCENTRATING? Sherlock always concentrated. He was focused and dedicated, cunning and clever. He never, never lost concentration.  
“Molly, think about who you are talking to. Don’t be such an idiot, I expected better of you. Really!” And with that he saw the woman burst into tears and run out of the room.  
Urgh, Sherlock thought as he fluffed his hair angrily. What was happening to him? This couldn’t be the effect of finding his soul mate could it? He began to worry, what if he never got it back, what if he was losing himself. No, that can’t be it, that has never happened to anyone before. But then, Sherlock wasn’t just anyone. What if the price for finding your soul mate was giving up something precious and Sherlock was made to give up his mind. Devastated by that thought Sherlock curled in a ball, flashbacks began to appear. The buzz of the cocaine, that feeling of clearness as his brain registered every single detail around him. The feeling of hundreds of kisses a night that all tingled with the same sensation. A vibrant, bustling city beckoned him. Cocaine could be found in seconds, he could get his mind back, it would all be okay again. Just as Sherlock began to stand, ready to rush out into the streets of London and face the crowds again after a decade of being clean, a wave of darkness hit him and he was pushed back to the ground. Memory upon memory of waking in gutters, waking naked between bins, getting beaten up outside clubs, being unable to move from being on such a low, lying on his bed with a broken heart after the hundredth person walked out, lying on his bed with a broken heart after the two hundredth person walked out, vomiting, crying, lying to himself and everyone around him. Waking one day to find himself lying in a bed filled with his own sick, excrement, urine and tears, turning to see Mycroft stood in the doorway, always there to witness Sherlock at his lowest.  
He could never go back to that again, he had been clean for over a decade now, under Mycroft’s guidance he had got better and never would be go back to that place again. He wanted John, no matter the cost. He had found John and he would be damned if he was just going to let that slip away.  
  
  


John

He could still remember Sherlock’s tentative brushes over his hands, still remember the feel of them melded together, still taste Sherlock on his lips.  He was desperate. Desperate to go back, to get him, to never leave his side again. John stood in front of the mirror as he undressed, pulling layer after layer over his head and dropping in on the floor until he was topless in his jeans. He traced the scar tissue just above his hip and the small scars the dotted his shoulders and arms. The remaining memories of bullets scraping by, fragments of metal cutting at his skin as things exploded around him. Then he noticed something different, just underneath his necklace there was a new scar. The infinity sign, made from turning a tear-droplet on its side and reflecting it. He had always wondered what shape his necklace would make; a tear drop had seemed both boring and dreadfully depressing as he was growing up. But now he knew, it meant infinity, forever, never stopping. Generally the scars turned out to be block circles made from two spirals, or a lightning bolt from two Z shapes or most commonly a random squiggle. Never before had there been an infinity symbol, records are kept each time people find each other and no one has ever record infinity. The closest someone got was an empty circle made from two semi-circles. There were several people who had the exact same necklace pendant but new they weren’t for each other because it didn’t scar for even a moment. And here John was, with an infinity sign still burned onto his skins several hours after meeting his soul mate, having never met another person with a necklace remotely like his.  
He pulled on some pyjama bottoms and climbed into his bed, absent-mindedly he began to caress the infinity scar that remained on his chest. He began to think about Sherlock, about his dark fluffy hair and his bright eyes that shown with an arrogant cleverness but that was still adorably endearing. Johns hand moved to trace his lips, remembering the taste of Sherlock on them and how passionate the kiss had been. Suddenly he began to feel himself engorge and swell against his pyjamas. Biting his lips, John moved his hand down and tugged his penis out of his trousers, just enough to reach it comfortably. He began to slowly move his hand up and down, then gently massaged the head. He felt pre-cum drip out and used it as a lubricant to begin to move his hand more forcefully. Thinking about how good it would be if it was Sherlock doing it to him he could hardly contain himself. With a few final tugs John felt himself ejaculate and bit the inside of his lip so hard that he drew blood.  
Grabbing a few tissues from the packet lying on his bedside table he cleaned himself up and then dropped the tissues on the ground. John cocooned himself inside his thin duvet and imagined it was Sherlock spooning around him. He was almost able to trace the lean, wiry muscles against his own toughened body. He could almost feel Sherlock’s penis pressing between his bum cheeks, not wanting anything but to stay safe there. He almost heard Sherlock whispering in his ear “It’s you, it’s you. I’ve finally found you!” as he already had done so many times that day. John felt himself drifting off into sleep, still with Sherlock’s voice repeating itself again and again into his ear.

He woke early the next morning, habit from being in the army. Deciding to go out for a walk to watch the sun on its final stretch into the sky, he got dressed and grabbed his walking stick from beside his bed. He sat on a bench in the middle of the park and wondered about the days to come in the future. It seemed to preposterous that less than 24 hours ago he had almost given up on finding his soul mate and now he was madly in love with the complete and utter perfect half for him.  He would never have guessed his life could change this dramatically in such a short amount of time, but then that was the thing with Sherlock. Everything moved so fast. God, listen to him, making assumptions about a man he has known for less than a day! John thought to himself, then shook his head. No, I do know him, I do get everything about him.  
He made his way back his flat so he could have a shower and get ready before going and moving in with Sherlock…it still sounded weird, John still couldn’t comprehend it. He planned his outfit carefully, decisively choosing what he believed Sherlock would like; the plaid shirt and beige jumper teamed with dark blue jeans. Obviously not Sherlock sophistication, but it was John, and that was all Sherlock wanted. By 10.00 he was inside a taxi and driving over to Baker Street, jittering with nervous and with a huge grin plastered to his face. As they pulled up outside the neat, posh houses-turned-flats, John hardly waited for the taxi so stop before throwing some notes at the driver and leaping out. Then he saw him, walking down the street. He looked completely like he belonged here in his dark, suave suit. Running towards each other and being swept into a kiss, John knew that he would never recover from this. Everything had changed too much already.  
“John, missing something?” Sherlock queried, looking almost smug.  
“What? No, I-I don’t think so. Am I?” Had he done something wrong?  
“Your cane John. You don’t have your cane.”  
“Oh shit, fuck! Buggering shitting fuck.” John swore loudly, causing many passers-by to turn and stare. “For fucks sake, they’ll charge me for that.”  
“John, firstly money is of no matter now. Mycroft, you remember me telling you about my brother right? Anyway Mycroft will handle it, though I do hate relying on him. Always makes me feel like I’m going to have to do him a favour one day, like attend a family gathering or something.” John saw a repulsed shiver run down Sherlock’s spine. “Secondly, you obviously don’t need it anymore so it doesn’t matter.”  
And with the utterance of those words nothing mattered to John anyway, nothing except Sherlock that is. All his fears about his walking stick and money and housing and love and the future simply faded and melted away until there was nothing but happiness and hope.  
“I’m really glad we’re doing this Sherlock. I really, REALLY am.” John took hold of his hand and pulled him inside the door.  
Sherlock was pulled into a bear hug by a small old lady with an apron wrapped around her waist and kissed twice on each cheek.  
“John, this is Mrs Hudson. She’s our landlady, and one of the most important people in my life.” John loved the happiness on Sherlockd face as he beamed as Mrs Hudson, obviously she was very important to him.  
“Hello Doctor Watson, I’ve heard so much about you. But let me remind you, Sherlock said _landlady_ not _housekeeper_. You two are responsible for looking after each other, not me.” But there was a twinkle in her eyes as she spoke and John found himself inexplicably drawn to her.  
“Really, Mrs Hudson, call me John.” He smiled and then laughed as he too was pulled into a hug and kissed on each cheek.  
“Go on then you two, go look upstairs. Go on!” Mrs Hudson shooed the two upstairs and John turned to see her retreating into her own flat.  
They burst through the door and surveyed their surroundings. Oh yes, this was going to be perfect John thought happily. He turned to look at Sherlock  whose face reflected the exact same thought. He kissed his soul mate on the lips and lent into his side. This was going to be absolutely perfect indeed, he thought for one last time.


End file.
